


Pushed To Breaking Point

by Swashbuckler



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Canon Autistic Character, Canon Disabled Character, Catharsis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Frustration, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Miscommunication, Overstimulation, Pride, Stimming, Stress Relief, Tears, Telekinesis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swashbuckler/pseuds/Swashbuckler
Summary: Sometimes broken records need to be overwritten.





	Pushed To Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dillonmania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Push To Succeed](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11771004) by [dillonmania](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania). 



> Darn you, DillonMania, _darn youuuuu!_
> 
> (I love you.)

It’s stupid. It’s stupid. It’s stupid, it’s stupid, it’s stupid, it’s stupid _it’s stupid stupid stupid **stupid stupid--!**_

The device Roscoe had been working was thrown across his room, shattering into a thousand pieces against the wall. He hadn’t even touched it; his head was buried in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp as he ground his teeth and glared at the wood of his desk. 

His head was swimming. He shouldn’t be getting the headaches any more. Piper had managed to find medication that worked. Actually worked. He pressed his thumbs into his eyes, rubbing them in slow circles, watching the pattern of coloured lights that danced behind his eyelids. It wasn’t good enough. Roscoe yanked his head out of his hands, ignoring the sharp twinge of pain that shot along the side of his neck at the sudden movement as he groped a hand blindly across his desk for- Where was it, where was it-?! The frustrated burn that began to sting the back of his eyes brought with it the unwelcomely familiar words of his father like a rusting museum plaque. 

_"You think they’ll respect you on Wall Street if you cry?"_

Lip curling, he snarled like a cornered animal, desperately searching his desk for- for- Where was it where was it where was it- ?!

“It’s on the floor.” 

Roscoe flinched around. “Lisa,” he said softly, the worst of the tension unravelling from his shoulders, “I didn’t hear you come in.” He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing back down the wild mess he’d made of it. 

“I know,” she quipped, “I’ve been talking to you for the last minute but-” She waved a hand in front of her face, “-got nothing.” Her bemused expression softened into something unhappy. Worried, Roscoe corrected himself as he moved his eyes away, scanning the floor until he spotted the top she was pointing at. He must’ve knocked from his desk while he was working. “Is everything okay, honey? I heard something smash.” 

“Fine,” Roscoe said automatically, stooping down to fish the top off of the floor, and not hesitating to push the remains of his work and tools off onto the floor, making space to send the top skittering across his desk. Lisa watched the way he watched the top whirl across his desk, transfixed. She narrowed her eyes.

“Right.” His knuckles were white as he gripped the edge of his desk. “Honey, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Honey,” Lisa pressed with a sigh, but she forced down her irritation. She could see the tension up his back, the way his shoulders were bunched up defensively, his head bowed so she couldn’t see his face and his words were short, forced out through gritted teeth. Another time she might’ve slid her hands up his back, offered to massage the tension away, but knowing Roscoe, at a time like this, it would only make things worse. He needed less, not more attention.

“Want me to come back later?” 

Wordlessly Roscoe held out his hand. Lisa took it, letting herself be pulled nearer, her brow creased in worry. Later, she decided, she was going to phone Piper and grill him for every little detail for how to help Roscoe when he was wound up.

Roscoe, however, wasn’t present. He’d reached for her in panic as the words of his father had twisted and grown and were ringing through his ears.

_"You think **she’ll** respect you if you cry?"_

Now it was worse, now it was so much worse. The burning behind his eyes had only got worse as she’d pressed him to talk. Perhaps he should’ve asked her to lea- no, no, never. Not his beloved. Never. Roscoe squeezed her hand, and he grimaced when she returned it gently. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his horror, only a tiny, strangled noise came out as he fought back the tight lump in his throat. 

“Roscoe?” Lisa asked, frowning at him. And now she could see the way his eyes were glaring at the ceiling, wet and shining. “Are you crying?” she asked in surprise. 

“No,” he growled, lip curling. Lisa narrowed her eyes. She had seen that attitude before, she _knew_ that attitude. She closed her eyes and gave a little shrug. 

“You know, _Lenny_ never cries.” 

Roscoe bit back the urge to lash out; of all the people he was happy to snap at, Lisa was not one of them. The only one, in fact. But really? She’s going to start sizing him up against Cold? The rest of the Rogues might be starry-eyed over the famed ‘leader’ of the Rogues - no one remembers Scudder these days, Roscoe thought to himself bitterly - but he is not. Is Lisa, his beloved of all people, really going to stoop as low as the rest to wind him up by comparing him to the true bottom of the pi-

“You don’t want to be like _Lenny_ , do you?” 

Roscoe stopped. He frowned. Something. He’s missed something. This- He looks at her, daring not to blink lest the wetness in his eyes have the audacity to spill. Lisa’s stood there, looking at him, mouthed curled in a derisive laugh as she looks at him expectantly. He’s missed something. Rhetoric. Rhetoric, that’s what he thought she’d been using before - but her tone… He played the memory back. _“You know, Lenny never cries.”_ It was disapproving. It was definitely disapproving. 

_“You don’t want to be like **Lenny** , do you?”_ The scoff, her derision- It clicked: her disapproval hadn’t been directed at him. 

He cleared his throat forcefully. “I have- have no desire to share _any_ trait with your brother.” 

Lisa smiled. “Good~” Her expression softened as she raised her free hand to touch his cheek. “It’s okay to cry if you need to. You’ll probably feel better afterwards, I always do.” 

Roscoe’s jaw tensed minutely. 

_“You think **she’ll** respect you if you cry?”_

_“It’s okay to cry if you need to. You’ll probably feel better afterwards, I always do.”_

Slowly he began to shake, hands reaching up to cover his face as he made an angry, hurt noise, and Lisa’s heart broke, reaching out to him on instinct. 

“C’mere, baby, it’s okay…” Lisa crooned softly, following Roscoe down as the man sank to the floor. When he tried to curl in on himself, she nudged his knees apart, shuffling into the cocoon of his embrace as he wrapped his arms around her waist and hers went around his shoulders. She closed her eyes, hushing him softly and petting his hair as he began to rock back and forward, tears flooding down the side of her neck. Her neck was awkwardly tilted to give him room and the floor wasn’t doing her knees any favours, but Lisa was happy to stay there as long as Roscoe needed her. 

Unless one of the other Rogues decided to come in and laugh at him. _Then he’d have to give her time to dispose of a body._

Luckily, no-one disturbed them, and Roscoe slowly began to calm himself, his sobs turning to laboured breaths before he finally went quiet and loosened his grip on her. Lisa maneuvered herself into a more comfortable sitting position as Roscoe crossed his legs, perching on his lap as he stared into space. 

“Feel better?” 

“I feel tired,” Roscoe breathed. His whole body had gone slack. He swallowed thickly. “Thank you,” he murmured quietly, catching the edge of his sleeve in his palm and wiping his wet, red face with it, composing himself.

“You’re welcome,” Lisa said, kissing him on his damp cheek. When she saw how utterly exhausted he looked, she gave him another one. 

“Need a nap?” 

“Quite possibly,” he chuckled tiredly. Lisa gave him a coy little smile.

“Need a teddy bear~?” 

Roscoe smiled at her and kissed her.

“Most definitely.”

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who very, very prone to tears, I assure you, there are none more painful and difficult to hide than _frustrated, angry_ tears.


End file.
